The Disappearing Town of Aylesbury
by Calico Yorki
Summary: At last, at last, I've gotten back to work on this story. Note that this fanfic is OC heavy, and though I'll try not to let them constantly supersede the main characters, it may happen at times. Rated T for cursing and themes not suitable for children. UPDATE: In a display of how to truly generate a faux pas, I mistakenly posted an unfinished chapter. Enjoy the completed product!
1. Prologue: The Last Summer Vacation

Aylesbury, Scotland.

Unextraordinary. Fairly bland, to be perfectly honest. A small town inhabited by less than a hundred people, it was built on either side of a wide dirt path. The massive ring of crumbled stonework encircling the town's perimeter gave a hint to what may have once been a fortress. Any structure of that kind must have been quite ancient and quite embroiled in combat to have crumbled so utterly.

Yet built half-upon this ruined wall was a house. Windows boarded-up from the inside and door immovable to any kind of tools the residents had available, it had been sealed that way for as long as anyone's grandparents could remember - And for that matter, for as long as _their_ grandparents had ever told of remembering. Not even a kilometer from the ocean, swaddled on three sides by forest, it was an isolated little nook of a town.

However, a certain phenomenon had gained such notoriety that it reached the ears of the Justice League - Though no one in Aylesbury could say they knew exactly who the "Justice League" were, or why their town was any of said group's business. In regards to the aforementioned phenomenon, it always occurred on Sundays at midnight. To the majority of the town, all that occurred was everyone sleeping soundly the whole night through.

On the other hand, a distinct effect was witnessed by individuals outside of the town's limits. Upon the midnight hour, an incredibly dense fog would roll over the town and clouds would block nearly all of the moonlight. From this point until 12:30 A.M., nothing could be seen of the town through this fog.

Most disturbingly, anyone who tried to go through the fog never reached any buildings or other objects known to be within Aylesbury's limits. They could head directly to where a row of houses had been just minutes earlier, and merely keep going until they left the mass of fog through the far side.

It only exacerbated the League's worries when they learned of what happened to all teenagers who had been born and raised in the town of Aylesbury. By the time of their sixteenth birthday, they would begin to have violently terrifying nightmares that were too traumatizing to relive by explaining them.

When it was discovered that at least four teenagers native to Aylesbury had entered a nearly comatose state filled with nightmares, they immediately sortied five young, female heroes from the Teen Titans en route to another location. They would arrive shortly. What no one knew was that years in the past, but not many, a clandestine group had begun to act on a certain visitor that would come from outside the town. It wasn't long after the League sent members of the Teen Titans that this individual arrived.

Great consequence would be centered around a particular girl, one whose friend's family had allowed her to accompany them on a Summer Vacation in Europe. While in Scotland, this particular girl was the only one to find an interest in the rustic town of Aylesbury.

Though she was welcomed quite graciously and allowed to stay there for the week in Scotland, this girl would find a series of peculiar circumstances leading her in the footsteps of...Herself, in a way.

She would sunder the foundation of Aylesbury and dig through long-buried secrets.

She would meet the Sable Nightwatch and find light shone on a new path.

Yet for tonight, Tara Markov was just looking for something to do.

It was always such a drag to wake up too early.


	2. Chapter One: A Shift at 0000 Hours

"Ugh. This _sucks_."

After wandering around the small house she had been allowed to stay in, Tara Markov decided she wouldn't be getting tired enough to go back to sleep. She always _hated_ waking up in the middle of the night - She was never able to get back to sleep. Not to mention the pounding rain outside that prevented her from taking a stroll to calm down.

Hoping that it had at least gone from 11:00 to 11:30, Tara looked at the clock. 11:06. "Awww, come _ooon_," she whined, throwing herself onto the couch. Bored senseless, she decided she might as well see what kind of T.V. was on in Scotland at this time of night. Once she found the remote under a cushion, Tara fell against the couch's arm with a sigh and began flipping through the channels idly.

Doctor Why. "No." High Gear. "No." Infomercials. "_Heck_ no." Some kind of channel depicting all sorts of royalty-related programming. "...Interesting, but I'd rather have someone take a pickaxe to my foot." Eventually, she just settled on a news channel. Turning it down, Tara suddenly got an idea. She hopped to her feet and went over to the corner of her dining room counter. Sat there proudly was a small, old-fashioned radio. Would it...?

Two minutes spent fiddling with the knobs had eaten up some time, but afterwards, Tara was even more wired up than before. Just as she was ready to hurl the radio out of her window in frustration, Tara heard a distinct female voice and played by ear until she had tuned the radio in. Patchy as it was, it gave Tara something to listen to.

_...The scientists report a conspiracy theory to hold significant truth..._

"Yes, I'm sure they do. Crackpots and lunatics are all over the world, I guess."

_...They have found long-abandoned Chinese mission reports detailing the sabotage of a decades-old joint American and European space mission - This probe abruptly lost contact on mid-course to the Beta Centauri star system..._

"..." Tara stared blankly at her radio. "Okay. That's creepy." She leaned in despite herself.

_...The mission had been sent to investigate strange radio signals that came shortly after a high-power transmission was sent to the Beta Centauri system...It was believed at the time that this could be an attempt at contact by extrater - __**Kzzzzzsssccchhh**__..._

Hand shakily lowered from abruptly turning the radio off, Tara gulped. "O...Okay. Th, that's gonna make it hard to get back to sleep." She looked up at the clock.

11:13 P.M. "_Rrrgh!_" Tara stomped her foot in impotent rage. "Well," she huffed, "Might as well prepare for the alien apocalypse. The frickin' Beta Centaurians must on their way here after we ignored their long-distance call." She began ratting around the house.

Under the bed, she found a long-abandoned bottle of pills. "Testosterone Supplements: Only Take If Male And Suffering From - ...EW EW _EW!_" After tossing the pill bottle violently into the trash bin, Tara had to seriously calm her breathing to force down her gag reflex. Heading into the bathroom, Tara decided to check her shower.

Her flat stare focused on the shelf inside. "...One half-gone bar of soap. No shampoo. _God_." She groaned tiredly. "Well, it _was_ free. I guess I should've expected this." Lifting up something from the floor, Tara wondered if this shiny object could help her in case of -

"...A spoon. In the bathroom floor. Whoever owned this house before me had some kind of issues that I've never even _heard_ of." She sighed, twirling the bent utensil around on her fingers idly. "Well, if push comes to shove, maybe I can use this to reflect a laser or something." She groaned. "Why am I even focused on this? Am I _that_ bored?"

As soon as Tara walked back out and saw the time, she decided she had plenty of time to still be bored. "11:17. _Guh._" Slumped back over to the couch, Tara turned the volume up so that she could hear the news program.

_...Scientists have discovered a deep undersea trench filled with large, previously-undiscovered life forms. Investigations are - __**Klik**__. _Shakily lowering the remote to her side, Tara was now quivering like a leaf on a tree. Her mind was working in overdrive.

Aliens + Deep Sea Trench + Large Undiscovered Marine Life Forms = ?

"...There is no such thing as Cthulhu, Tara," she murmured. "That was a novel. Just a novel. Written by a man who was likely disturbed." Then, a certain English town known as Innsmouth popped into her mind.

Innsmouth = Aylesbury?

Now, the pitter-patter of rain sounded much more ominous and dreadful.

"...Uuugh..."

**...**

_**...Terra...Terra...Terra...**_

_...Tara? Who's saying my name?_

_No! I don't want to hurt them anymore! Hurt me all you want, Slade, just leave them alone! I'm begging you, don't hurt my friends anymore!_

_**Silence.**_

_Augh!_

_Huh? Wh...Who is that girl? Why is that man hurting her? Why...Why does she..._

_**You and I could have been happy together...And you threw it all away for that pathetic, snivelling runt.**_

_Aah...Ah, aaahhh...Ugh, ghh, guuuh...Hik, hik...Hik, snff...Agh...Aaagh...Uuuuuh..._

_Please stop! Why are you doing this to her? Who are you? Why is - ...What...?_

_**I'll make sure you regret this dearly, Terra.**_

_Her...Her face...Sh...She's...She's...No...No, no, no...No no no no no..._

"Excuse me, miss?"

"_AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!_"

**...**

When Tara awoke, she was curled up on the couch with tears streaming from her eyes. She murmured piteously, "Wh...Who...Who was that girl?" A quiet sniffle escaped her. "Why...Why did she...Look like me? Why was that awful man beating her...?" Before her swimming vision appeared an offered handkerchief. "...Th...Thank...Youuu..."

After wiping her tears up, Tara looked down at the handkerchief in her hands. Icy fear shot through every last vein. Shivering violently, Tara looked to see that her locked door was still closed. Yet before her stood an incredibly tall man garbed in what appeared to be very outdated gentleman's clothes.

Leaned forward slightly, a surprisingly high-pitched, faintly mocking English voice asked, "Are you quite alright? I was told that you were going to be affected by the Darkening, but I had no idea you would be in such a state. Poor thing." He tilted his shadowed head.

Tara's eyes grew wider and wider, before she took a deep breath. "_Monster! Ghost! Ghoul! Demon! SCUM! FREAK! __**CHILD MOLESTER!**_" With every word, Tara kicked either leg alternatingly into the bizarre intruder's groin. Falling silent, she panted.

He never flinched once to each and every kick. After a few seconds of silence between the two, his head tilted to the other side.

"Hm. 7,833. 3,451. 4,227. 4,139. 2,478. 10,292. Aaand 317." He carefully pried the handkerchief from Tara's grasp. "I've been called a lot of things over the years, dear."

As he spun the handkerchief a few times, Tara's eyes narrowed. Her entire body quaked - Now with rage. She only distantly noticed that the handkerchief was now dry.

Leaned onto her back, Tara folded her legs up and ready. "Have you ever been called '_Whooped by a Girl who has a Black Belt_,' then?" Both of her legs speared towards the obviously disturbed man's stomach.

When her legs hit air, she realized that the man was now sitting on the arm of the couch next to her. She also realized that, beneath his tophat, he wore a paper bag over his head with a single hole cut out for his left eye.

"I've heard _that_ one nineteen times, now," he chuckled. "My turn. You are Tara Markov, American high school student, briefly followed by Beast Boy of the Teen Titans a few months or so prior to now." His cackling increased as Tara's face drained of color.

At that moment, the clock on the wall chimed. Midnight. The bizarre gentleman swore in what distinctly sounded like _German_ if Tara heard right. "Darkness is here. Stay close to me, Lady Markov." Tara was given no chance to question this.

Suddenly, a loud screeching erupted into the living room. Cold, wailing gales blasted from every shadow, robbing Tara's body of breath for a few moments. Upon the front door formed a swirling shadow, which started to extend a large set of jaws.

Instinctively clutching to the stranger, Tara could not close her eyes for terror. The coalescing jaws were growing ever-more distinct and solid. As the bizarre man raised his hand, Tara heard his voice drop at least an octave.

"Get thee behind me, daemon. This girl at my side is hereby and henceforth under the protection of Her Excellency's Sable Nightwatch."

Tara clutched to the man for dear life - Whatever was trying to cross her doorstep, it refused to back down. Humming quietly, the stranger wrapped his arm over her shoulders.

"I will protect you," he murmured. "Tell this cretin that he is not invited into your home."

Tears began to flow again from Tara's eyes. This was supposed to be a nice Summer Vacation with her friends. Yet the stranger continued to murmur softly.

A huge pair of jaws were right about to close over both of them.

With all her strength, Tara wailed out loudly.

"I command you to leave my home!"

An ear-piercing scream filled the room.

Then it all faded to black.


	3. Chapter Two: Talk to Me

"Uuugh...What...?"

Tara awoke in a mass of cloth. She was forced to claw her way out to the top, from which she could observe her surroundings.

All around was a lightly rippling sea of grass. Once Tara became more orientated to her surroundings, she found herself wrapped in a mountain of patchwork quilts which itself rested within some kind of cart. Far back along the dirt path she had apparently been brought upon was a huge mass of fog, while a tophat-wearing figure was crouched in the grass nearby her location.

Mumbling and frequently cursing, the tall fellow seemed to be picking through the grass. Totally silent from exhaustion, Tara merely watched him. Though Tara jumped a bit when she saw that he was the same man who wore a paper bag as a mask, for some reason, nothing about his presence made her wish to flee. He was quite strange, but didn't give off any sort of threatening sensation.

Quietly clearing her throat, Tara waited for the odd man to turn. She didn't expect his next action of immediately spinning to his feet with a bow. "Good evening," he chirped, lowering his tophat. "I apologize for such a rude intrusion onto your vacation, Lady Markov, but it could only be fate that brought you to this curséd town." Pulling aside his coat to reveal a deep blackness, the tall man reached his hand far in to search for something. "The Stone, Iron, and Will Shards have been resonating, and I just _knew_ it was for you. Nebraska was right - _She_ is looking out for us even today. Now, where are the confounded - "

"Wait, wait, _wait_," Tara shouted. "You need to back up. I _still_ need answers from all this stuff you know about me. How did you know about my Summer Vacation? Why did you call Aylesbury cursed? What's all this about 'Shards resonating?' And who on Earth would call me _Lady Markov?_" She buried her face into her hands with a cry of frustration. "Why does this have to happen to _me?_ What could I have _possibly _done to deserve this on my Summer Vacation?" Shaking with rage and despair, Tara's opinion of the man who she had just met was rapidly changing for the worse.

For a minute or so, the tall man became quite intent on looking over his tophat. Eventually, however, he spoke in a solemn tone. "_That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons, even death may die._" He met the curious look Tara gave him. "Familiar to the works of H.P. Lovecraft, are we? Let us just say that not _all_ the terrible fiends which his works drew upon were _purely_ of fiction.

"I had not anticipated a _complete_ lack of recall," he said wearily. "Now it becomes apparent that I was indeed a fool to assume even a majority of _her_ descendants were familiar with their lineage." Tucking the mushrooms he had picked from the ground into his coat's inky void, the tall man sat down and began his story.

He said in a quiet voice, "I forsook the right to my given name long ago. Nowadays, everyone prefers to call me 'the Mischief-Maker.' My job has been to investigate Aylesbury's..._Peculiar_ nighttime qualities and put an end to them if possible.

"Yet you, Tara Markov," he said plainly, "Have become entangled by strange events involving a single incident: A rogue clone of yours who met a tragic end." He sighed. "I know, I know. That little bit of information doesn't help as it stands. Give me a chance, please."

"I'll try to explain Aylesbury, as it is now..."

**...**

_Long, long ago, before this land even came to be known as Scotland, a great evil treaded this wide area of grassland. Many warriors attempted to slay him - Many sorcerors attempted to tame him. No mortal could ever hope to match him._

_He was not the only, nor even the strongest demon of his kind. Many of them roamed their own swathes of territory across the world, particularly in Europe. A veritable league of demons agreed to come to one another's aid should a need arise. Yet it had long ago been decreed by divine prophecy that no man would ever slay the demons of these isles known now as the United Kingdom._

_No man, indeed. However, one night, a fierce champion of men and his wife - The most powerful and most beautiful sorceress of their land - Were given a daughter in the midst of a war. She grew up beloved by her parents, yet shunned by other warriors; those who believed their champion shouldn't have been left with his first child being a daughter, not able to join her father on the battlefield._

_Yet her mother and father knew otherwise. She was born under a particular sign - One that only ever appeared over male children who would grow up to fell a terrible enemy. The day would come when this was proven true - For in a castle, during a banquet in her father's honor, a demon captured her and threatened to rape her should her father not hand over the prized claymore, blessed by the gods. Without this sword, the war would surely be lost._

_Despite urging and pleading from the other warriors, her father went to deliver the blade. What happened next shocked all who were present and would turn the tide of mankind's war on their demon enemies. The hero's daughter snatched her father's claymore, hefted it with a single hand, and severed the arm holding her. In a fit of wrath, she proceeded to whirl on the equally-shocked demon and behead it in one fell swoop._

_This girl proved to be a match for all demons who crossed her. Any common demon who met her was swiftly exterminated if they didn't wisely flee back to the dark world they first clawed out of like a beast filled with parasites. She met the terrible demon aforementioned and used her mother's sorcery to bind his evil to the land, over which a fortress was built to seal him in. There he would slumber for untold centuries._

_Despite her heroics, when the young woman who saved these isles met her true love - A warrior prince from the land which would come to be known as Germany - She was all too happy to take his name. _

_She is only distantly remembered as a foggy memory of the Germans and Scots, believed to only be an influential local woman who may never have existed._

_For now, her name must not be spoken so lightly on this land._

_Demons don't easily forget their grudges._

**...**

Once he finished, the Mischief-Maker gazed oddly down at his gloved hands. Though his paper bag mask obscured any facial features, he was obviously afflicted by a great sadness.

For a few moments, Tara stared wordlessly. Eventually, she whispered in a disbelieving voice, "How...How would you know so much about her, if she's barely even remembered through history?"

The man gave a mirthless bark of a laugh. "Because _I_ played a supporting role in the story I've just told of that amazing, beautiful, fierce, kind woman."

He sighed in a ragged voice. "I didn't deserve her forgiveness...When she needed me most, I ran. I ran until I found myself in a dark place where I..._Changed_. And certainly not for the better. After this many lives, it's a wonder I still hold her in the loftiest chamber of my - Heh. _Heart_, as it were." As Tara listened, what she _knew_ to be a familiar accent began to bleed into the Mischief-Maker's voice through his speech. It was as if his English accent hid an origin in...

Tara's thoughts were broken as the Mischief-Maker continued. "Now, I'm a shell with no more tears to shed for her. However much I want to weep for my actions." A snort escaped him. "But you don't want to hear _my_ story - You want to know Aylesbury's tale.

"To be honest, it was a mistake to ever build Aylesbury upon that fortress's ruins. It was destroyed by the Nightguard for a _reason_, goddammit. If only we could've broken the seal during the last Cycle." A snarl broke in.

The Mischief-Maker spoke on Tara's confused expression. "The Last House on the Road? It's been here since long before that fortress - And it's been sealed up about as long."

"As for what happened to Aylesbury," he murmured, "Right now, and so it will be for about ten more minutes, it's been made into a sort of 'playroom' for that long-buried demon's hellspawn to muck about in." Finally walking over to the cart that Tara rested within, he began retrieving mushrooms and leaves from the depths of his coat before tucking them securely in-between quilt layers.

Back to his chipper disposition out of nowhere, the Mischief-Maker said brightly, "You remember the one green lad who was fixated upon you? Beast Boy, I believe?" He saw Tara nod slowly, nervously. "Well, on our trip to the Sable Room, I'll try to explain the situation around that lad and his friends."

Once he took a seat in the corner of the cart, the Mischief-Maker snapped his fingers. Across the road in front of them, a dark, rippling haze began to grow. In time, it rose up and solidified its form into a twisted, warped gate.

At the Mischief-Maker's quiet urges, Tara ducked into the quilts and covered up. Despite how her night had gone so far, it failed to dispel Tara's surprise at the cart's sudden motion.

Wheels creakily turning, the cart slowly, slowly rolled into the dark gate's open maw.

In moments, the gate closed and collapsed in on itself.

Quite overstressed, Tara fell into a deep slumber.


	4. Chapter Three: The Sable Room

A female, distinctly British voice cut through Tara's sleep.

"Oi. Oi. Is the li'l shrimp okay? Mischief-Maker hadda lotta nerve bringing 'er 'ere without alertin' the Cleaners. Lucky girl - She could've really been offed back there." A snicker. "Ah well. At least issa bit entertainin' to have a new li'l sis. Flannery'll adore her."

Soon to follow was a low, rumbling, but distinctly calm Russian voice.

"I do not know what you consider 'entertaining,' Deep Purple, but I would gladly find other entertainment than looming over a sleeping girl who has been over-stressed. My assistants and still have work to do - For the Sunday Offering, we have finished preparing two of the three cows, four of the six pigs, all of the fruits and vegetables, half of the bread, all of the chickens and eggs, all of the geese, and are preparing to cook everyone's Sunday Meal. I would much rather oversee that than stay with you leering over the Young Mistress."

The female voice snapped violently, "Well then get lost Brezhnev, ya damned tosser! I get tired of you and yer gaggle of wankers, all of ya pitchin' tents over this damned food! You can just hurry up and lea - "

"Very well have fun with this I'm off to prepare the stew don't wait up."

"Don't leave the room while a lady's talkin' to ya, ya damned wanker!"

**SLAM.**

"YOUR HAT IS FUCKIN' STUPID I HOPE YA KNOW! Rrrgh!"

...

All of this left Tara very uncertain as to whether she really wanted to get up.

Thus, she decided to feign being asleep for a while longer.

Her 'accompaniment' would hopefully not catch on.

...

Within a spacious, dark, circular chamber, five individuals - Among which was none other than the Mischief-Maker - Sat around a large table covered in thick, voluminous azure velvet. This velvet extended in rippling folds to cover the entire floor and creep up the walls in strange tendrils. Most peculiar was the lavender energy which pulsed along the fabric.

At the moment, the Mischief-Maker was staring down another individual. This opposing fellow wore a mahogany-red business suit, black leather gloves, pressed Italian shoes, and a neatly-tied white scarf. Atop his head was a fedora of matching coloration to his suit, save for its magenta band.

However, his head was completely sealed within a layer of some pallid, rubbery flesh, on the front of which rested a vertical set of jaws with massive fangs - Exposed to the air by dessicated lips. From within this mass could be heard a smooth male's voice. "All I'm saying, Herr Mischief-Maker - "

The Mischief-Maker snarled uncharacteristically. "Try to send another jab like that my way one more time." As it had towards the demon trying to invade Tara's home hours earlier, his voice dropped a full octave: "Make another base, childish insult in this sacred room. Give me a reason to slash your mortal coil once again, Mr. Bleak."

'Mr. Bleak' raised his hands appeasingly. "Come now, come now," he said - Voice jumping higher in contrast to his opposition. "You know I don't mean such good-natured jibes to affront you personally," the fellow said in an attempt to placate the abrupt anger. "If you insist, though, I'll try to watch my words in the future."  
>While this went on, two other figures - These two female in figure - Watched exasperatedly. One of these two lifted what looked like a cellphone and began typing.<p>

Dressed head-to-toe in biker leathers, her face was obscured by what could only be a motorcyclist's helmet - Mostly a dark indigo, with pale, silvery indigo stripes.  
>The arguing males completely ignored a distinct beeping noise. Meanwhile, the other female in the room elegantly raised a tiny silver sphere in the palm of her bandaged hand to listen for something. This woman's entire body was either hidden within a stormy-gray cloak or tightly bandaged, up to her face - Itself bandaged save for her right eye, a soft gray-blue, and her locks of slightly curly brown hair.<p>

Soon enough, a vocal message reached her ear - Still ignored by the quarreling pair of men. Those two fight as only the closest brothers can. Don't you agree, Nebraska? The robed female - Supposedly named 'Nebraska' - Turned to the helmeted female near her. "You're quite right, Gertrud," she said quietly. "They always come to points of contention where Remnants like the Wretched Craftsman are involved." The two shook their heads exasperatedly, yet still continued to sit back and not interfere with the argument.

Last in the group was what appeared to be no more than a solid iron coffin, bound closed by at least three chains - Each of which were secured by a huge padlock. This padlock continually pulsed with ochre and black energy, and the entire coffin seemed to radiate a powerful energy. Without warning, the coffin broke into violent rattling and several thumps erupted from its inner confines. In an instant, the argument ground to a halt - The two parties stared each other down a few moments longer, before quietly taking their seats.

Down towards the coffin, Nebraska whispered, "Thank you, Lord Alcatraz. Gertrud and I would have stepped in, but when they're embroiled in argument like that, your voice reaches Nathaniel and Mischief-Maker far more clariently than the two of us." She turned her gaze back to Mischief-Maker and the man who was apparently named 'Nathaniel Bleak.' Nebraska said tiredly, "If you two are quite finished..." She bowed her head as the two nodded politely. "Thank you. Then we shall proceed."

With a larger version of the disc she had previously used set upon the table, Hevlaska sent narrow streams of pale blue light into its metallic surface. From the top of the disc rose up a swirling cloud of nebulous energy which quickly began to take a more distinct form. Once the glowing mass had coalesced into a block of runic letters, Hevlaska continued. "There have been...Unusual movements," she began carefully, "Of enemy forces. Besides the many new servants that the Wretched Crafter has assembled, an unknown group was seen bypassing the wards on Mt. Kuroi-te in far eastern Hokkaido." A map of Japan was formed alongside the letters. Gertrud, Nathaniel, and the Mischief-Maker watched silently.

"We have also been getting reports of supposed 'super villains' in the cities and towns close to Aylesbury," Hevlaska continued. She brought up a map of Scotland, with several flashing points focused around a single dot with constant light. "The most urgent message has come from Larkson, a relatively small city less than three kilometers north of Aylesbury itself. A man going by the alias of 'Noland Wicker,' no family or home to speak of, found nowhere in the records of any local colleges or high schools, has been found lurking in an abandoned construction site on the city's outskirts." She paused to let everyone observe more closely.

Hevlaska went on to say, "While little is known of what resulted in his superhuman abilities, his strength and endurance are too far beyond the realm of mortal limits to have resulted from any normal training. He has been witnessed taking no damage from close-range rifle shots and can easily snap iron truncheons which have been purpose-made for handling superhumans known to the local area." As the images faded, Hevlaska retrieved the disc.

"After sending in an investigation squad, it seems that Noland Wicker may have been given his powers from a high-class demon." The others visibly tensed. "There's more. While further analysis will be needed to prove the group's findings, they report that Wicker has somehow spread an Ecliptic Field over the construction site. And it's roughly similar to what's been spread around Aylesbury." She sighed as Nathaniel prepared to get up.

Abruptly, several bands of white light trapped Nathaniel's wrists to the chair. With a sigh, the man turned his grotesque mask towards Hevlaska. "I would prefer," he said slowly, "That you not stop me like this. I was specifically trained to handle this kind of issue. I can have this done and be back in time for dinner tomorrow." He tried and failed to break loose.

Voice taking a stern edge, Hevlaska said with finality, "With Lady Markov retrieved and now found to be unaware of her heritage, we must tread softly. There is a strong chance that she cannot tap into her powers without assistance." She looked to Mischief-Maker.

"And you," Hevlaska breathed dangerously, "Should have known better." She inclined her head as the bizarre man looked clear away from her. "If the girl had been left alone, she would have been avoided so as to not risk the chance that she could be awakened. You clearly showed that she does not know of the Nightguard, and completely ignored that we cannot use our spells in another's home without their permission.

"Once Lady Markov's inability to fight back was apparent," she continued to the clearly ashamed Mischief-Maker, "It would have taken an exceptionally idiotic demon not to jump on the chance to kill you both. Had the girl not been able to speak in time, we would have lost our most powerful acting sorceror and the only descendent of that woman to be capable of helping us." Hevlaska gave a ragged sigh.

Following several moments of uncomfortable silence, she spoke again. "None of us are permitted to leave the Sable Room," she said calmly. "Mischief-Maker will be speaking to Nil to decide his punishment. Gertrud and Nathaniel, you both shall be working to patrol the vicinity of our Contained Space. I shall assign suitable caretakers to Lady Markov."

Everyone could see plainly that no room for argument would be permitted. Once Nathaniel was released, he left through a dark passage with Gertrud and the Mischief-Maker to do as Hevlaska had said. That finished, Hevlaska looked down upon the iron coffin left in the room.

After another minute or so of merely gazing at the coffin, Hevlaska whispered something that couldn't be heard. Then, she too left the chamber.

Left by itself, the coffin gave no more sounds or motions for a while.

Yet several minutes later, quiet snores could be heard.


End file.
